


Happiness is a Sno-Cone and Brian Kinney

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: muse_talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-15
Updated: 2008-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," I ask him casually, "wanna go to the carnival?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness is a Sno-Cone and Brian Kinney

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Five  
> Written for LJ's Muse_Talking community (1st Person Justin Taylor)  
> Prompt: What Makes You Happy?

When I come home to Pittsburgh, I expect family dinners, Babylon, Debbie pinching my cheeks and telling me I'm too skinny, and lots of hot sex.

This time, the hot sex started in the elevator on the way up to the loft, continued on the dining room table, and finished on the bed, where no doubt we ruined yet another duvet. Brian no longer seems to care.

When I can breathe properly again, I straddle Brian's body and run my hands up and down his chest. I can feel him getting hard again, already, and frankly so am I. Sexual incompatibility will never be one of our problems. But today I have other fish to fry.

"So," I ask him casually, "wanna go to the carnival?"

Brian brings his cigarette to his lips and takes a deep drag, seemingly considering the question oh-so-carefully. "Would we have to get dressed?" he finally asks.

I snag the smoke out of his hand and drag on it myself. "Yes."

"Then I have to vote No."

No big surprise there.

"Okay," I tell him. I hand him off the cigarette and crawl off his body, already reaching for my clothes. I glance over my shoulder. "Meet you at Babylon later?"

Brian scowls at me, blinks through the haze of smoke. "What?"

"I used to love the carnival," I say wistfully as I get dressed. "I loved going on the rides, eating candy apples, getting a sno cone. I've been looking forward to this ever since Michael mentioned it last month."

I catch Brian mouthing 'that little shit' as he forcefully stubs out the cigarette, but I pretend not to notice.

"So," I say nonchalantly, "I'll probably get to Babylon around eleven, after the fireworks. Catch you lat--"

Brian bounds out of the bed and snags me by my T-shirt. I let him pull me toward him, my clothed body rubbing against his nakedness. It's hot, and I have to bite my lip and focus to remember the plan.

Brian nips at my neck. "Don't you think we should shower first?" he murmurs.

We.

I let him drag me into the bathroom, pulling my clothes off as we go. A little delay is perfectly acceptable.

* * *

We get to the park, a large section of which has been fenced off for the carnival, a little after four. Brian matches my eager gait, albeit a little reluctantly, until we get close enough to read the large banner flying above the entrance. He slows, forcing me to pull on his arm to keep him moving.

"You didn't mention this was a benefit for the GL-fucking-C," he bites out.

I smile brightly. "I didn't?"

Brian sticks his tongue in his cheek and looks like he might say something else, but I'm already walking backwards toward the entry turnstile, keeping him in my sights but also getting closer to the gate.

Brian sighs and gestures toward another booth, the one where the admission tickets are sold. "I think you need a ticket, Sunshine," he calls out.

"Not a problem," I tell him, and pull two admission tickets out of my jean pocket.

The superior little smirk on Brian's face fades in an instant.

He should really know better by now. When Michael and I combine our knowledge of How To Work Around Brian Kinney, we're unstoppable.

* * *

"This is great," I say a few minutes later. We are surrounded by the sounds and sights of the midway. Kids screaming excitedly on rides, hawkers trying to cajole us into trying a game of chance, the tantalizing scent of hot dogs and caramel corn and candy apples.

"This is loud," Brian complains. "And where the fuck is the Butthole Bingo?"

"Brian," I tell him, laying a hand soothingly on his chest, "your Carnivale was… unique. But I think the GLC wanted something a little more traditional this time around."

"If there's no anatomically correct kewpie dolls," Brian grumps, "I'm leaving."

* * *

We stand in front of The Zipper forty-five minutes later.

Brian watches the ride spin, the individual cars rotating on their own axis. Excited screams drift down to us from the riders. He scrubs a hand over his chin, and looks at me dubiously. "You sure?"

I roll my eyes. "The Zipper is THE carnival ride, Brian. It's really fun. I remember going on it with my dad when I was ten!" I smile teasingly. "You're not chicken, are you?"

Brian shrugs. "You're the one who just ate three hot dogs," he says resignedly.

We wait anxiously in line, and I almost _feel_ ten again, bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation. Brian merely looks worried.

When we finally get into our cage, I can't stop grinning.

The ride begins. We rise into the air, and at the same time our car spins forward. Backward. Forward. Sideways. Forward.

Oh God.

Forward. Sideways. Backward.

I hear Brian laughing beside me, and do my best to plaster on a smile. A sickly, going to vomit at any moment smile.

"Oh god oh god oh god…"

I don't even know I'm speaking aloud until Brian whispers in my ear. "You usually only call me that in bed, Sunshine."

I swear to fucking god he's gloating.

When the ride ends, Brian is jaunty and I'm… well, I'm just fine, maybe a little dizzy -- okay, maybe a lot dizzy -- until the smell of roasting peanuts hits me. Then I make a dash for the nearest trash can. The little kid -- about ten -- who was in the cage below us laughs at me as he strolls by.

"You were right," Brian says, rubbing my back as I bend over the garbage can losing three hot dogs that just aren't as pleasant coming up as they were going down, "that was really fun."

* * *

When my stomach finally settles down, we decide to try a few midway games.

We fail to win a goldfish in a bowl of coloured water. We can't throw a ring over an old dusty coke bottle. I might be able to do okay in the shooting gallery, but I refuse to try. I promised myself a long time ago that I'd never touch a gun again… even at a carnival.

My eyes light up when I spot the water gun game.

Water guns totally don't count.

"This one's great," I tell Brian eagerly. "You shoot your water gun at the clown's mouth, and that makes the balloon on the top of his head fill up. The first balloon that breaks is the winner!"

"I understand how to play the game, Justin," Brian drawls.

"I always kicked ass at this game," I boast proudly. "It's really easy, Brian. Let's play."

We put our money down. Pick up our guns. And shoot.

The trick to winning this game is to not pay any attention to the other shooters and their clowns. You have to concentrate on your own clown, making sure your aim stays true every second. That way you definitely win, and I--

The winners bell goes off. I look up, confused.

Brian smiles and waves a small stuffed animal at me. "Easy," he smirks.

* * *

We run into Michael and Ben at the concession stands.

"Whoa," Ben says, "we never expected to see you here."

"I did," Michael says. We share a smirk.

Brian ignores all of us. But he looks at me askance when I step up and buy some cotton candy.

"That," he says, pointing at the pink ball of spun sugar, "is going straight to your thighs."

"It's delicious," I tell him, taking a big bite. "Melt in your mouth goodness."

Brian only shakes his head at me. I suppose he's imagining all the extra gym time he'd have to put in if he dared to have something so decadent.

"Besides," I say, leaning in and brushing against his shoulder, "you'll have to help me work it off."

He gives me a wicked little smile and I know that I'm going to have a nice workout when we get home.

Then-- pain.

"Fuck," I mutter.

Brian raises a brow. "Now, Sunshine?" he leers.

"Fuck!" I drop the cotton candy into the dirt and press my palm to my mouth, trying to still the ache that's filling my jaw.

"Are you okay, Justin?" Michael asks worriedly.

The pain slowly goes away, and I tentatively open my mouth. "Fucking cavity," I grumble.

* * *

An hour later, we make our way out to the open field to find a spot for the fireworks. Brian sprawls on the grass and I sit beside him, my head on his shoulder and my hand holding a sno cone. Grape, my favourite.

All around us is the low murmur of voices, and the happy cries of children waiting excitedly for the fireworks to start.

As I watch everyone get settled, as I watch Brian lean back on his arms and look up to the stars, it occurs to me that Brian had never been on The Zipper. Brian had never played the Clown Game, or tried to win a fish in a bowl of coloured water. Brian had never eaten cotton candy or held on tight to his father's hand so as not to get lost in the crowd. Brian had never been to a carnival.

I think about cavities and dizziness and vomiting, and I know the day certainly didn't turn out the way I thought it would. I think of Brian smiling on the rides, holding up his stuffed rabbit in triumph, and I think maybe it was better than I ever thought it could be.

Brian looks over at me. "Have fun today, Sunshine?" he asks.

I smile. I have a sno cone and Brian Kinney. What more could I want?


End file.
